Frodo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire and Bearer of the One Ring of Power, strained his short arms as he pushed his boat away from the shores of the Anduin. He held back tears as he slowly made his way across the river. He tried to force his mind away from the thoughts of his friends and how they would react to his decision to leave them. He was sure that Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli would understand, but Merry and Pippin would surely hate him and poor Sam, poor poor Sam, he would be heartbroken. But it was for the best that he left. After Boromir had fallen to the sway of the Ring, he had finally seen the true danger of this terrible burden. He could not let his friends befall the same fate. He needed to destroy the Ring alone.

It was not long before Frodo reached the east shore, and he quickly dis embarked. He began to wander into the woods towards the rocky land of Emyn Muil, but turned when he heard a desperate cry from the other shore. He peaked out of a bush to see Sam, his best friend and most loyal confidant, running up and down the bank. He was yelling Frodo's name and crying desperately for his friend. He eventually collapsed on his knees and began to sob like a child. Frodo, also on the verge of sobs, wiped the tears from his eyes and ran away from the sight. He told himself over and over that he could not let Sam be corrupted, and that it was for the best that he leave him. It was all for the best. It was all for the best.

Frodo Baggins found his way into Emyn Muil, where he was nearly killed by the creature Gollum, a former Ring bearer himself. Using the promise of the Ring as leverage, he had Gollum lead him through the stones and through the Dead Marshes. He came to trust Gollum during this time, and barely thought twice when he was led to the Morgul Pass rather than the Black Gate. It was at this time that he nearly fell completely to the sway of the Ring, and was led by both the Ring and his guide into the caves of Cirith Ungul. There, he met his doom. The great spider Shelob captured and consumed him, leaving the Ring to be taken up by Gollum. Already corrupted himself, Gollum was drawn further into Mordor, where he was slain by the orcs of Cirith Ungul, and the Ring taken up by a nameless Orc who was slain by another Orc who was slain by another Orc. Eventually, the Ring ended up in the hands of an Uruk captain who knew the importance of the Ring, and it came to the Tower of Barad-Dur, where its master waited. And so, quietly and without glory, the quest of the Ring failed and the reign of Sauron began.

Gandalf the White rested his weary hand on his companion's short shoulder. Peregrin Took fidgeted nervously as they overlooked the chaos surrounding the white city of Minas Tirith from its pinnacle. The forces of Mordor had entered the city, but they had been barred from entering the upper levels. In the distance, the forces of Rohan had come over the hills and were charging into the Orc host. For once, it seemed that all was going well. But then Gandalf felt it. It was like a simple shift in the air, a wrong turn in the current. But Gandalf knew what had happened.

Sauron had the One

A searing pain coursed through his arm. Gandalf screamed in agony as he clutched his wrist. The golden ring upon his finger that had been so well hidden by all the machinations of Elves and Wizards was now as radiant as a beacon and from its crimson gem burst sparks and flame. Pippin, startled by the wizard's sudden convulsions, stood still with a desperate expression across his face, lost as how to help his friend who had fallen to his knees . Gandalf, fighting through his blinding pain, placed his free hand on the young Hobbit's shoulder.

"Leave this place, Peregrin Took," he gasped through gritted teeth, "Flee as fast as you can!"

"But Gandalf, I want to…"

"Don't you understand? He has reclaimed the Ring! All who remain here are doomed. Now flee!"

Emerging out of the pain was a dark spirit, powerful and full of wrath. Pippin could no longer see the wizard that had filled his childhood with the joy of fireworks and a hearty smile. He could now see the true power of Gandalf the White emanate from his blazing eyes. He no longer felt fear of orcs or trolls or Ring-Wraiths or even Sauron himself. He fled from the terrible, blinding power of the White Wizard. He fled through streets and out of the city gate and away to where ever he could run. He never looked back, and yet it was for the best that he did not.

Gandalf, still upon his knees, fought with all his might against the dark will that encroached upon his mind. Sauron knew he had the elven ring, and was bending all His will against the Wizard. Caring not for the limitations of his physical form, Gandalf summoned all of the power he could muster to repel the Dark Lord. His mind became the battle ground of the greatest powers in all Middle Earth. Saruon struck with mighty hammers of hate and blades of cruelty, and yet the wizard held strong against the waves of wrath. And then He was gone. Gandalf's mind was clear of His presence. To where the Dark Lord had gone he did not know, yet, when he had regain the strength to do so, he tore away the ring from his charred and blackened hand and tossed it away. He could not risk using it again.

Gandalf fell back to his knees as a surge of power filled the air. He looked up towards the White Tree from across the long courtyard. It stood tall yet seemingly dead, but it shook violently despite the stillness of the air. The Guards of the Citidel, who had stood in silent vigilance up to this point, stepped back in fear, pointing their spears at the tree as if it might uproot itself and attack them. For the briefest of moments, all was quiet. There was no battle in the fields, and there was no army sieging the city. There was nothing but the silence. Then, as if a bolt of lightning had struck the tree, an eruption of raging thunder resounded from the square. A wall of fire exploded where the White Tree had once stood, its pale wood now scattered in a torrent of burning splinters. The guards were thrown back by the fire and the heat, and their black capes were alight. The wall of fire took the shape of a great eye and then opened like a gate from the very depths of Utumno itself. And from the portal He came. Tall and terrible, dark as death itself, Sauron, the Great Enemy and the Lord of the Rings, came. In one hand he clutched a great hammer and the other bore a shining band of gold. His helm was crowned with spears and his cape billowed in his wake. With a flick of his wrist, a wave of fire incinerated those of the guards that stood against him, leaving only red steel and charred bones where they stood. Mithrandir, ignoring the pain that the mere presence of Sauron imposed upon his form, stood in defiance of the Dark One.

"Go back!" he yelled, a raiment of light surrounding him, "Go back to your lands, servant of Morgoth!"

Sauron ceased his march, yet not for fear of the Wizard in his path.

"Olorin, I see you still breathe with the lungs of a mortal man," his voice was that of a dragon, honeyed and smoky yet stentorian and full of wrath, "Why is it, Istari, that you dare stand against me in such a pitiful form? I know the true depths of your power, you were one of Manwe's most prized pets, and yet he has cursed you to take such a humble body to oppose me. What wisdom lies in that?"

"I will not claim to know the mind of my master," Gandalf declared, "but his wisdom is greater than yours or your master's and I will not betray his command, deceiver. I will face you as a man!"

"Then you will die as one: bloodied and broken!" Sauron raised his hammer and swung down at the Wizard, who, drawing Glamdring, spun to the dark lord's side. He slashed at Sauron's arm, but his blade bounced harmlessly off the dark armor. Sauron, as if fanning away a fly, smashed his hammer against the Wizard, who was thrown further into the courtyard. Blood began to stain his white robes as he clambered back to his feet, ignoring the terrible pain in his chest. Refocusing his hazy vision, Gandalf noted Sauron and any possible weakness in his form that he could exploit. His whole body was incased in a suit of fell armor, forged of a dark steel that only he knew the secret of forging. Having apparently learned from his previous defeat, he had fashioned strong gauntlets to protect his fingers, specifically that which bore his Ring. Gandalf doubted that he could cut away the Ring as Isildur had done before him, at least while Sauron still maintained his wits. Physically defeating Sauron was next to impossible, unless he could draw him into making a mistake.

"What is wrong, Lord of the Earth?" he mocked, "can you not slay an old man with all your power? You claim to be a lord, yet all that stands before me is Morgoth's bitch!"

Sauron, who had remained regal and commanding in his composure, tensed and his voice was full of hate.

"Servant of Melkor, you call me? Morgoth's bitch? For all his might, what did Morgoth achieve that I have not? That fool was nothing but a raving idiot by the end of his reign, consumed by the chaos he so loved. I brought order, even during his time, to this world. I laid waste to elven kingdoms. I corrupted the hearts of men. I brought doom upon Numenor. I slew the kings of Elves and Men and violated their queens and made slaves of their children. Tell me, Wizard, by what knowledge can you make such claims?"

"Only the knowledge that any child could find in the most common tomes. You never were, nor will ever be, more than your master's shadow."

Sauron, alight from within, lunged at Gandalf, hammer ready to crush the insolent wizard into the ground. Gandalf summoned all the power he could manage into a shield of light around him. The dark hammer collided with the light again and again, each time growing brighter with wrathful flames. Gandalf, growing weary, stood steadfast against the onslaught, watching for any opportunity he might have to strike at the Ring and its finger. The hammer, reconstructed by some dark machination of Sauron, became a cruel blade, long and heavy and blazing with flames. It fell over and over upon the light, surrounding Gandalf with waves of fire and yet he did not waver. In a final furious move, Sauron extended his free arm, blasting the shield with a fire not of light but of shadow. It burned black and its fringes were alight with tongues of red and orange and, under this fateful assault, the shield fell. Gandalf, ignoring the pain of his burning body, lunged through the torrent and swung at Sauron's extended fingers. But Sauron would not fall for the same trick twice. Glamdring broke against Sauron's own blade, now barring the distance to the Ring. Shocked, Gandalf could not defend himself as his body was thrown once more across the courtyard.

He landed just shy of the edge of the great cliff that overlooked the city. He could see that, in the distance, Gondorian reinforcements from the south had arrived, along with a host of phantoms, but they were barred by a large force of Easterlings and were falling faster than their enemies. A small group of warriors, surrounded by the ghosts, were fighting their way to the city gates, but they would be too late. The forces of Rohan were scattered by the Haradrim, and the last vestiges of the Gondorian defense were either killed or captured the Orc host. All was soon to be lost. A single tear rolled down Gandalf's wrinkled cheek as he held back the urge to weep.

"How does it feel to know that you are responsible for all of their deaths?" Sauron loomed over the Wizard, also absorbing the vista of war, "You were sent here to oppose me without putting the races of this world at risk, and yet you used these people was your tools against me. No one needed to die, but you pushed them to oppose my rule. Their blood is on your hands."

Gandalf turned in a desperate attempt to take the ring from Sauron's hand, but he was thrown back down with ease and forced to stare back out at the now massacre of those he had sent into battle.

"Death is all that you have brought, Olorin. Death to these people. Death to those you call friends. Death to a Halfling sent on a doomed quest. Yes, Gandalf, he died, alone and in agony in the caves of the Morgul Vale. His death came by the spider there, but you killed him. I have committed many fateful and cruel acts, but I have embraced them. I make no claims to innocence. You have simply denied them, claiming to be a benevolent friend to those you send to the slaughter. Remember, all that follows, all my acts of revenge and wrath, are because of you."

Sauron pulled Gandalf onto his knees, giving him one last moment to see the fruits of all his labor.

"You are right," he choked on his tears, "I failed. I am so sorry, Frodo. I'm sorry for everything."

Sauron raised his blade.

"I'm sorry."

A single stroke, and the Wizard's head rolled off his shoulders. A moment passed, and Sauron turned away. He was stopped however, by the sound of a fell voice. Turning, he saw a white mist pouring from the fading body of Gandalf. It took the rough form of a man, tall and powerful, and whispering of his return with the army of the West. The mist began to shift, stepping away into Valanor. Gandalf was ready for his judgment and a chance at redemption, but Sauron would not let him have that peace. A black smoke, thick like a cloud of ash, enveloped the white mist. It extended from Sauron, drawing his enemy back. The mist fought against the smog, but it was already weary and broken, and so Sauron slew Gandalf in both body and soul.

"No!"

Sauron turned to the voice. Standing where the White Tree had been was a most peculiar host. There were three elves, two clad in the arms of Rivendell while the third was clad in the garb of the Woodland realm. A dwarf stood next to the third elf and beside him was a man clad in the garb of the Northmen. They were flanked by a host of the Dead, men of Dunharrow he believed, and at their head was a man. He was by no means a notable man, his stature was average and his face worn, but upon his hand was a silver ring and in his grasp was a blade. He knew this blade. Sauron stood before the heir of Elendil.

"So, after years of hunting Isildur's heir, he comes to me at the hour of my victory. How poetic." Sauron stared down at the frenzied eyes of the man. They were the same as the man who had caused him so much pain and inconvenience. Ignoring the urge to immediately burn the man to a crisp, he turned his attention to the host as a whole. "I have slain the wizard you placed so much hope in, but hope for your peoples may come in another fashion. Surrender now and your peoples will not come to a terrible end. Elves, Dwarves, Men: they all may have a place at my bountiful table. They will prosper under my wisdom. All that you must do to give them their place in my beautiful world is to surrender yourselves to me. You have the word of your new lord and master that they will be treated with kindness and dignity."

"I stand opposed to you, foul one!" shouted the man, pointing his sword up to the face of the Dark Lord, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the Throne of Gondor! You will fall again by this blade!"

"You speak with great confidence for such a small man." Sauron quipped with contempt in his voice, "I feel the weakness in your heart, your fear and your rage. Maybe you would speak more truthfully to your heart without a host of the dead at your back." Sauron, the Necromancer of Dol Guldor, raised his hand and extended his will over the city. Every ghost of Dunharrow saw the light of the halls of Mandos and faded from Arda.

"There is only one King, and you are merely a child attempting to overthrow a God. You are doomed."